“Andthat,” I pointed at her, “is the problem. Do you understand how manypeople I've known who've ended up in prison over this shit?”
Sheshook her head, keeping her rapidly blinking gaze on the floor. “I don't—”
“Alot, Andy. I've known a lot of people who've had the cops called on them. Whatif your old man had called the cops onyou? What if, right now, you weresittin' in a precinct somewhere while the police raided this apartment? Huh?And that's the least of the problems that could've happened. Do you evenrealize that?”
Shedidn't, and that was an issue. Maybe the biggest one of all.
“Fuck...” I turned away from her quiet, blank stare, to face the couch and pile ofcoke. Then, I asked, “Why are you here?”
“What?Because I live here—”
“No,”I spun on my heel to face her, “why are youhere, with me?”
Herjaw flapped several times before she responded. “I-I love—”
“Iknow, you love me. Butwhy? Why did you let this get that far? Whydidn't you turn around when you found out about this shit and run far away?”
Shebegan to cry. I didn't take pride in her tears, but I did feel relief. Theymeant she still had a conscience, that she could still feel.
“Idon't know,” she admitted. “I just ... I didn't want to leave you, and I wantedto see—”
“Wantedto seewhat?”
“I-Ifit really does help you escape. Baby, why ... why are you asking me—”
Istared off toward the wall and asked myself more than her, “What the hellcould've been so bad you needed to escape?”
Suddenly,none of it made any sense, none ofher, none ofus. What the hellwas I even doing with her? I could still remember the initial spark and what Ihad found so appealing. It had been the anomaly of her innocent confidence andher brazen reluctance. She had been intriguing to me and I'd gone for it, notrealistically thinking that this good, sweet woman would want anything to dowith a low-life like me.
Butthat had all changed somewhere along the way.Shehad changed. And ithad been me to change her, I knew that, but was there something else? SomethingI had missed?
“Whydid you need to escape?” I asked her, turning around to face the tears streamingfrom her eyes.
“Youwouldn't understand.”
“No,”I said, shaking my head. “You don't get to play that game with me. I am ruiningmy life for the shit we're doin’ together and I need to know if it's at leastworth it.”
“Youhave your reasons and I have mine,” she offered with a weak shrug.
“Why,Andy? Just tell me why.”
Sheclosed her eyes and pressed her hands over her temples. “Because I needed it tostop. I needed it to be quiet, in order to be happy.”
Inarrowed my eyes and watched her as the tears continued to fall. She was shrinkingbefore me, wilting in on herself as the truth finally blossomed from the lies.
“What?”
Hereyes opened and she looked off to somewhere beside me. “I, um ... I don't knowhow to even tell you this. I never wanted you to know. But I hear this soundall the time, like TV static or, um, radio interference. It's always there, andit's so annoying. But there's something else ...”
“Okay.What is it?”
“I... I see, um,” she swallowed hard against the war she was fighting, “I see ...spirits.”
Iwas sure I hadn't heard her correctly. I was also sure I was going crazy, if Iwasn't there already.
“Andy,”I groaned, pressing my fingertips to my forehead. “Come on.”
“No!”she shouted, a fresh air of determination taking over. “It ... It's beenhappening my whole life, but I didn't realize it until my imaginary friend,Jamie, didn't go away. My family thought I was insane, and so, I've had topretend that it's not there anymore, but itis. It never went away. Andthis is why I've been single forever, because it's so distracting to hear this,thisshitall the damn time, and to see them, and all the shit they needme to—what?”
